


Worn

by notyourbabe



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Feels, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourbabe/pseuds/notyourbabe
Summary: A short fic about someone's ex's journal.





	Worn

I was lounging on my sofa--the one we’d picked up from your old roommate in exchange for fifty bucks and a pack of cigarettes--and reading one of your books. Over the past year, your reading material had slowly migrated over to my place. One day it was your psych textbook that you needed to write a paper, and two months later it was piles of books you’d found at thrift shops that you thought my best friend or my mom might like. You knew I didn’t talk to my mom much anymore, but just in case, you always said. Just in case. It was in between these stacks of old sci-fi novels and grungy romances and firsthand accounts of the Korean War that I saw your journal.  
It was worn and leather-bound, so it didn’t stick out among the rest of your belongings in my living room, but once I noticed what it was, I grinned. When we first met, you were always writing in that damn thing. I would see you on the city bus or in a cafe, just scribbling away. On our first date, I asked you what you were always writing about. You smiled--god, I’ll never forget that smile--and said you were writing about me.  
When I opened it, I saw that almost all two hundred pages were filled. I couldn’t believe you loved me that much--even though you’d never said it, I knew you loved me. Glimpsing through the pages, I saw little descriptions and wandering thoughts about me. I wanted to read it from cover to cover but you had arrived and rang the doorbell, so I hid the journal where it was before. Then I acted as if I had never seen it. (But I kissed you extra hard when I opened the door.)  
It was a few weeks later that I was sitting around and flicking through a book about early democratic civilizations. You had already read it and said it was good. I thought it was okay. You came in and sat down with your glass of bourbon--it was already almost empty although I had heard you pouring the drink just a minute before. You refilled it twice before speaking more than two words to me.  
“We need to break up,” you said softly, but it didn’t brace me for impact because I remember the way my stomach dropped.  
“What?” I asked, and my voice was just a little too strained.  
You didn’t look at me, and I think if I went back in time I would see that you didn’t look cruel, just broken. (It still stings.)  
I only cried when you were about to walk out my door. You still hadn’t looked me in the eyes but I saw the shadow cross your face when I went over and pulled out your journal. I shoved it in your face and asked you if it was all a lie. You didn’t say anything so I opened it to the last entry, dated the day before. All you had written was, I love her, I love her, I love her, over and over again.  
I thought that would make you stay. (It didn’t.) (Those words were the only thought running through my head as you walked out the door.)  
I love her, I love her, I love her.  
You texted me later, after a day or so. Maybe a month or a year. You said I could keep all the books. I typed back that I didn’t want the books--I just wanted him. But I didn’t press send. (And I read all the books anyway.)  
My friend said she saw you in a coffee shop. I wanted to go by it. I wanted to see you and tell you all about Emperor Nero and the Tang Dynasty, and mainstream feminism’s exclusion of minority groups and how you have really bad taste in romance novels. I wanted to tell you that my best friend liked the book about conspiracy culture and that I wanted to talk to my mom but I didn’t know how--I thought maybe you might. I wanted to tell you all of this but then I was there and I saw you and you were already writing in a different journal and I was too busy hoping it wasn’t about a different girl and how unfair it was that you could move on to another girl while I was in love with you to think about the list I made of all the things I would say if I saw you again. And all I could remember was your words.  
(I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her.)  
If you want, I would write a whole book about how I feel about you. But I think you would say that would be a waste of time because you don’t care about me--(but I don’t think that’s true).  
(I think you still love me.)  
(I love you, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first time posting on here, so thanks for giving me a chance! Comments and critiques are welcome!


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